Making Waves
by Maken
Summary: ºSlash/Yaoiº -.Hounded, chased and threatened, Harry Potter escapes into a world where nature thrives and ninjas exist. Here, he searches for a place to call home and stumbles into more than he first expected.-


**I Disclaim** here and now, and under the watchful witness of everyone who reads this, that I, in no way, shape, or form, own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_. In fact, I'm just sneaking them away to play games with one of my plot-puppies, the runt of the litter, who's a cute little bugger.

**Alert!** Slash. Yaoi. Boy-love. Shonen-ai. Whatever you want to call it; it'll be happing in the story, though not for a few good chapters yet, I think.

**My Pickled Brains:** Well, I've wanted to write a _crossover_ for some time, so I put up a poll asking what kind of crossover yall wanted to read; this one won by a small margin (The HP/Eragon one came in a close second), so I've stashed the other plot-puppies for later and told the lot of them to behave.

Or heel.

Hopefully they'll listen, right?

As is, I'm ashamed to say that I was going to update my oldest story today, but this got in the way and got finished first. But still! An update is an update is an update, in my book! And _Peculiar Circumstances_' new chapter will come soon enough, anyways.

So! Tell me what you think about this or I'll have my plot-puppy gnaw at _your_ brains.

He's teething.

-o

**Shinobi**

-o

He landed with a _thud_, a muffled yelp and hissed curses. A dense forest rose up around him, though there was thankfully enough room for him to move between the roots of the massive trees. Not that he could tell much more then that since everything was a blur of color to his eyes.

He had already bumped his head once or thrice because of low hanging branches, just to prove this point.

"—bloody buggering hell. Just wait 'till I find my ruddy glasses; I'll turn you into useless effin' kindling, you overgrown, worthless excuse for a—" his very satisfying, though almost silent litany of words ended with yet another yelp as something sharp and pointy bit into the exposed skin of his behind.

And of course, this started yet another string or whispered profanity as he finally noticed that he was stark bloody naked.

"_Language_, Harry," came a sharp voice, though he could clearly hear the amusement in it.

With a sigh, but not surprised with the intrusion, given that he'd suspected it would be coming sooner rather than later, he settled down gingerly on the forest floor and squinted in the voice's direction, a frown marring his features. Now that he paid attention, he could more than notice his visitor and it pissed him off royally. The fact that he had expected it didn't make the fact that she _was_ there any better. "You were not supposed to show up for three days, Hermione."

He didn't bloody mind if his voice was a bit too sharp, really. He had a damn good reason for being short with her.

He saw the hazy blur flicker a bit and Harry was sure that Hermione was lifting her chin defiantly, "I was worried about you, you know. Everyone is. And I had to check that you'd arrived safely wherever it was you managed to land. You know as well as anyone that it'd have killed me to wait for three days, not to mention Mrs. Weasley."

He just glared in her direction and sprawled on the comfortable leaves of the forrest floor, not really caring at the moment what they might be hiding and too bloody tired to care about ants and spiders. If he sat on a snake and it killed him, then at least he'd die by something natural and not by fawning wizards. Or worse, a love potion overdose.

Closing his eyes and throwing an arm over them to block out the rest of the sun (and try to alleviate the dull throb of his strained mind), he sighed again, a corner of his lips rising slightly in spite of himself, "You just knew that the ritual would leave me naked and wanted to ogle me. Admit it." The silence that greeted his statement sounded rather guiltier than it should, "What'll I tell Ron about this, then? Though I can understand why you'd be lusting after my body."

"You think too highly of yourself, Harry James Potter!" and from the way her voice carried he was sure that her back was turned to him. He rolled his eyes behind closed lids, as if that would make a difference now. She probably got a bloody good eyeful already. "Just put some clothes on, then!" she huffed.

He almost smacked himself in the forehead, "Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?" he asked her wearily, "I just crossed dimensions into an unknown world with an unproven ritual using only my personal magic. I'm completely knackered and not at all in the mood for barfing right after arriving, I'm weak enough as it is! Bloody hell, this is why you weren't supposed to check on me until after three days, _damn it_. As is, you're only making me more tired by using the bloody stone now, of all times, when my magic is already low and not ready to support this type of communication!"

"Harry . . ." she interrupted guiltily, but he cut her off with a sharp gesture. It was all he could manage.

"Go away and leave me the hell alone or I'll undo de bindings with the stone and you won't hear from me until I bloody well want to. You're fucking draining the few scraps of magic I have left; do you bloody well want to kill me? Go! I'm defenseless enough already without you _draining_ more of it than you have!"

With a rush of magic and a faint, hasty, broken goodbye, she was gone. He let out a breath of relief as the drain of her presence disappeared. His inner magic was dangerously low. He didn't care that she left crying; what she did could have bloody well killed him! It was as inconsiderate as it was stupid, and she should have _known_ better.

He sighed again and stretched, weary to the bone but not uncomfortable. He had already taken stock of himself, and though he felt rung out and weary, he just needed to get his breath back before he could do anything else.

Besides, the relief he was feeling was enough to wash away most of his fatigue. It had ruddy well worked! After months of running, hiding and evading the Magical World and those ungrateful sods back in England, he was _free_! There was no bloody way that anyone could follow him here, wherever _here_ was.

No more attacks from lunatics wanting to take the Elder Wand from him, which McGonagall had returned to him after Hogwarts was ransacked one time too many. No Ministry of Magic chasing after him with accusations and unreasonable requests; no more attention-seeking witches and wizards throwing themselves at his feet so they could say they've shagged the boy-who-lived-to-vanquish-evil.

No nagging from the Weasleys, Hermione and whoever else thought they had a right to dictate his life because they though he needed looking after. Bloody hell, he'd thought he'd be able to live a peaceful life after Voldemort was finally dead, but it had become anything but. And that was _without_ the constant threat of love potion in his food, fanatical magical people in his closet and poison in his mail.

Which were all good enough examples of why he'd been desperate enough to do what he did.

There hadn't been anywhere in the bloody world that magic couldn't find him unless he wanted to live like a hermit for the rest of his bloody life.

Fucking bastards, the lot of them.

He moved the arm covering his eyes and settled it behind his head, looking unseeingly at the blurry canopy of the forest where he'd arrived. He didn't know where he was, and he didn't really care, as long as he was far away from the wizarding world's reach. The fact that the ritual he'd performed was heavily modified and only someone with the Elder Wand would have been able to pull it off was a balm on his frayed nerves.

The fact that this world or dimension, or wherever his destination had ended up being, was a place without magic-users of any kind was also a kind of fail-safe. After all, if there was no one able to wield the Elder Wand besides himself, then even if disarmed he'd always be its master and in the end, he's die its master.

If for nothing else, that was a good enough reason to do this. The Death Stick would find its own end here.

Wherever _here_ was.

And wasn't that worth the hassle? However you wanted to put it, it was a bloody good adventure. After all, he had a whole new world at his fingertips, now.

Grunting with effort, he sat up abruptly and looked around. He was sitting between three of the biggest damn tree's he'd ever seen, and the rest of the forest didn't look any smaller. Not that he could actually _see_ them all that well.

And he was still in his birthday suit, too.

_Shit_.

No matter that the breeze felt brilliant across his skin, he didn't rightly know how long he'd be able to avoid the natives of this world. While the ritual was supposed to deposit him _at least_ twenty one miles away from any human being, in any direction, that still meant that there were people twenty one miles away, and there was no way of telling if they would wander into his neck of the woods.

Or how fast they could do just that.

Not to mention that the forest could end just a few meters away and Harry wouldn't have been able to notice with how good his eyesight was and all.

So he resigned himself to the fact that he needed his stuff before he fell asleep and then had to wait until it came out the other end to use it. Getting onto his hands and knees, he snapped his fingers to clean them and shoved one down his throat before he could think twice about it.

He shuddered and threw up so quick that he was left dizzy afterwards, not to mention completely grossed out. True, he had spent the last seven years handling the bile, eyes, innards and various disgusting body parts of numerous disgusting magical creatures. He puked again just because of that line of thought. And he had to admit that your own vomit was always special in that it was always unpleasant.

At least for him, that was. Who knows? Maybe Snape actually used his for potions.

The thought made him heave. _Yuck_.

With a grimace, he started breathing from his mouth and squinted closely at the puddle of chunky sick, disgusted. Still, it had been a good thing he did it (swallowing his suitcase, not puking it up), seeing that the robes he'd been wearing, his glasses, and really, _everything_ that was not a part of him had been lost in transition.

Why that was, he hadn't the foggiest, but it had been a distinct possibility that had turned out to be quite true.

Finally, he saw what he was looking for and with a sound of triumph; he fished it from his puke, only to grimace again at the slimy feel of it. He waved his hand and banished the lot of it, though some of the smell still lingered. But then, his wandless spells were never as effective as his wanded ones.

He was dry now, if not exactly fragrant, and with his enchanted moke-skin pouch in hand. It was a tiny little thing, no bigger than a pill, really. But that was the cool thing about it. With a prodding finger he coaxed it to grow bigger and bigger and _bigger_ until he was holding a good sized bag. It was remarkable, really, seeing as it was spelled both weightless and bottomless.

Not to mention that it was _way_ manlier than Hermione's beaded little thing, too.

Opening it up, he shoved his hand inside and retrieved his glasses first, before returning his hand inside to fish out the elder wand.

He was so very tired, and the day was late enough already. The shadows of the forest were already lengthening and Harry knew that it would be better if he left the exploring for tomorrow, when he would actually be able to do it.

He thought, rather accurately, that his curiosity could wait for now.

Walking (though stumbling dazedly was a better way to describe it) the circumference created by the three enormous trees, Harry weaved the needed spells to protect him tonight; notice-me-not, muggle, animal and insect repellant, protective enchantments and all the rest that had become instinctive and common-place after last year.

Lastly, he conjured a four-poster bed in the middle of it all, too tired to actually pull out and set up a tent, cast a better cleaning charm on himself and climbed in, closing the heavy drapes soon after.

There would be time enough for other things tomorrow. No matter how new the world he landed in might be, or how many things in it there were to see. He came searching for peace, and by Merlin's Sacred Scrotum, _he would have it_.

He was out like a light as soon as his head hit the fluffy pillows, feeling safer than he'd been in more than half a year.

After all, there were no wizards in this world.

**oOOoOOo**

Harry didn't know if it was morning or afternoon and he didn't really care, he just knew that it was bloody bright and that the sun should just go stuff itself.

He rolled over and curled up under the blankets. He was so comfortable right now; he didn't really want to wake up. After all, he though, he didn't really have to _be_ anywhere else that day. There were enough supplies to last him a couple of months in his new wizarding tent, and he'd be able to send for more if he ever needed it.

Bless Andromeda Tonks' heart for that. He really didn't know how he would have been able to pull it off without her.

Scratching his stomach, he stretched before settling down once more, but his awakening mind and empty stomach didn't let him go back to sleep, the bastards. So he scrabbled around for a bit and almost crowed in triumph when his fingers found both his oval shaped glasses (another gift from Andromeda) and the little moke-skin pouch.

He didn't have to search inside of the small bag for long, nor move from his comfy bed at all before he was eating sandwiches and drinking pumpkin juice from a flask, both tasting fresh thanks to a number of preserving charms.

By the way the light hit the heavy canopy of his conjured bed, it was well into the afternoon, meaning that he'd slept the day away while he recovered his lost magic. Thankfully, only a ritual of such magnitude could drain a witch or wizard that much; there was enough magic in the world for everything else, though there was none whatsoever in between dimensions for some reason. This was why he'd needed to use up his own personal stores.

But that was neither here nor there.

He finished his meal and lazed around for a good hour afterwards, spelling his drapes open so he could look out into this new world. The forest itself was incredibly lush, and critters of every kind roamed around without noticing his presence thanks to the weave of protective spells.

Apart from how big the tree's were, all the animals he could see were fairly normal, so he could conclude that the world shouldn't be all that different from his own; not that it wasn't different, of course, because it _was_.

He could feel it well enough.

It felt heavier here, and purer. The magic of the place pressed on him from all sides, wanting, _wishing_ to be used. It fueled and seeped into everything around him, but there was no one capable of manipulating it like a wizard could, and it recognized that.

Maybe that's the reason he took less than a day to recover from his magical exhaustion? It would have taken him a week back in his world had he used up so much of his personal energy, but here, well, it was almost like he was swimming in magic.

It felt wondrous.

And just like that, he felt like seeing the sights. And wasn't that a brilliant thing? To do what you bloody well wanted to do, whenever the hell you bloody well wanted to do them. No nagging friends, no chasing fans, no perusing enemies. No impossible expectations.

Nothing.

Great Merlin's Magical Wand, he was utterly and completely free! It more than gave him the needed inspiration needed to get out of bed and _explore_. To see what kind of world could fit the specifications of his ritual; for that, above most other things, made him mightily curious.

He slid languidly from between the sheets, reveling in the press of the sun against his bare skin and wiggling his toes into the loose, rich earth. He could just imagine the lack of polluting industry here. _Feel_ the unexploited world around him.

He was sure he could find a home in this place, and the sudden urge to _see_ everything rushed though him once more and he felt as, if not more excited, than when he had first set eyes on Hogwarts or Diagon Alley. With a negligent wave of his wand, the bed was gone and Harry's arm was in the pouch up to his elbow.

He took out a pair of boxers, some well worn jeans and a black tee before his hand came into contact with his broom. He let it floating beside him and hung his clothes from it as he finished searching for his trainers and socks.

When he had everything, he made the little pouch shrink again and hung it from his neck before pulling his clothes on afterwards. He could take a shower tonight, when he found a better place to settle his tent.

"Well then," he muttered to himself, twisting his feet this way and that to get comfortable and adjusting his bits for broom-travel before he took down the enchantments he had placed the day before and weaving a few more on his person; disillusionment, notice-me-not and muggle-repellant, just to be safe.

It wouldn't do to be noticed before he wanted to be noticed, after all.

Nodding to himself, satisfied, he put his wand away, mounted up and shot straight up into the air with a _whoop_ of joy. It had been a _long_ time since he'd been able to fly freely like this, and he reveled in it.

He raced across the treetops, looped high in the air and dived more than a few times before he was ready to see the world around him, looking to anyone who might spot him like no more than distorted air. And what a world it was, too! Everywhere he could see, trees and rivers and plains and colorful, vivid farmlands made up the landscape. Everything looked so incredibly alive, it was amazing.

Small villages and towns cropped up here and there along the edges of the forest and rivers, and as Harry ate up miles in his Firebolt, he began to put what he'd seen together.

Nature ruled here, and he liked it.

Oh, he'd seen more than enough technology to know that they weren't exactly behind here. There were radios and TV's and such, as well as electricity, but it was nothing overwhelming. In fact, even if they had it, technology as a whole seemed to be minimized. These people lived a simpler life, here, where they lived at their own pace and not anyone else's; the feeling of community was sharp, even if he didn't understand the language they were using, which had given him pause.

It sounded like complete gibberish to him, of course, and he paused in enough towns and hovered above enough conversations to notice that it was a particularly weird kind of gibberish.

He was sure that it was nothing that had its roots in _Latin_, that's for sure; which he didn't truly understand. Honestly, just how the hell did parallel universes share languages, anyways? Hermione has explained it nice and neatly, but Harry couldn't remember even half of the lengthy explanation.

Not that he cared to remember, really, so he kept flying. Kept exploring.

Nothing quite struck him as much as what he saw in the biggest town he encountered, which boasted intricate enough architecture for him to know that this world was advanced enough already.

That, however, wasn't what had surprised him enough to almost knock him off his broom. What did, though, where the strangely dressed people jumping, yes, _jumping_ from roof to roof. If he hadn't known any better he would have called it magic, but he didn't know any spell that would allow you to walk up a bloody wall as if it were nothing!

He watched numerous feats like these throughout the day, and he was left slack-jawed by the things that they did without a second though! He even saw one of them breathe fire, for Merlin's sake! And that wasn't the strangest thing, either. The thing that got him was how the normal folk didn't react or bat an eye to it at all.

Not to the incredible acrobatics. Not to them breathing fire or moving tons of earth without effort. Not to the way they disappeared without a trace or appeared within their midst just as easily.

Instead of fear or weariness or even envy, the common citizens looked at these people with respect, no less, and even pride. Though most of them simply ignored the lot of them and went on their merry business without giving them a second glance.

It made Harry wonder if things could be like this in his world and between magical and non-magical people, but then, he didn't even know if these high-jumping, wall-walking, fire-breathing people were as different from regular citizens as wizards were from muggles. He tried following a couple but swore that they could feel he was watching, since they got incredibly twitchy and looking in all directions when he got too close.

He was savvy enough to understand that these people were warriors. The weapons all of them carried around spoke for themselves, so because each one he approached started acting strangely when he got too close, he kept his distance. However, he was curious to know more, so he decided to start at the beginning. And for that he needed to know the language.

Leaving the large town, he made his way to a smaller settlement he had seen on the other side of the forest. He would need to get some clothes as well, since his would stand out far too much, but Hermione, for all her reluctance to let him do this, had thought of how to help him avoid such a thing as not fitting in.

For that, at least, he was grateful. She truly was the smartest witch of their age.

Carefully, he landed in the forest and out of sight from the road, taking the time to store his Firebolt in his punch once more, removing the spells covering him and fishing a couple of small bottles, his invisibility cloak and a few small jewels from the small enchanted bag.

When he was done, he stuffed the thing under his shirt and the rest of his items into his pockets while spelling his clothes, and only his clothes, with notice-me-not charms. It would be enough for now, at least, though new clothes would be the better solution.

Happy with his deviousness, he draped his cloak around his shoulders and held his wand at the ready before setting out.

It took him no time to come out into the road and he almost cursed himself at the strange tracks his trainers left on the road. A silent spell erased them, another made sure he didn't leave any new ones, and another made doubly sure that his cloak didn't get dusty enough for reveal his presence either. There was no telling what else these people could do after what he'd seen today.

The village was not big, but then, it wasn't all that small either.

True, it didn't have any walls like the bigger towns did, but that just made them a little bit more welcoming, which was why he chose it. The afternoon was waning and most everyone was returning from the fields or whatever other work they had been doing. A lot of them were gathering around the village square and into food stalls and bars, while mothers were ushering their children home.

Harry observed all of this with a half-smile, slipping expertly amongst the milling inhabitants, as the place reminded him more and more of Hogsmeade when it was getting ready for the end of the day. And while he might not be able to understand the language, everything else was common enough.

Though not all that common, truth be told.

The culture, as it were, was completely different.

He was more than glad to see how utterly diverse the population was, though. Appearances didn't seem to be a problem, and he'd already seen more than a few questionable individuals. I mean, honestly, who the heck dyes his hair green? But no one had given that guy a second look, and that meant that Harry would be able to mix in and not stick out.

Silently, he skulked around, searching for a good subject.

One of the potions he had been able to procure was solely for the purpose of learning a foreign language. It was a hideously complicated concoction that had cost him a fortune, but he was glad that he had it now.

Still, it only worked with non-magical subjects and non-magical languages (since a magical being's magic tended to dislike being used), and even then, the process itself didn't end with the potion. In fact, the concoction itself didn't even come in a single, easy to drink format that would miraculously have you speaking a new language in a day.

No, he wasn't half as lucky as that.

The _True Tongue Tonic_ was, in fact, three different potions that, after receiving its last ingredient, would need to be mixed together and downed rather speedily. It was recommended that you didn't even wait until the third potion was completely mixed before you chugged the whole thing down.

What Harry needed to complete it, however, was the last ingredient; which consisted of copied memories, interestingly enough.

And that's exactly what he was after right at that time.

Silently, he marked his first victim and followed. It was a man of at least twenty-five, if he didn't miss a guess, with open features and a chatty nature. From the litany of words the man had bandied about, none of which sounded quite the same, Harry was sure that he had an extensive enough vocabulary, which suited him just fine.

So he gave chase and entered the bathroom after the guy, making sure that there was no one else inside before he locked, silenced and threw some aversion enchantments on the doors and windows (just in case). It was only a matter of waiting for the man to finish his business before Harry stunned him, performed the spell necessary to copy the memories of language from him, which consisted of a long, thick strand of a silvery-blue color (which he then deposited into an empty vial), before he ennervate'd his victim and obliviated his memories of waking up on the floor.

It was only a matter of doing the same thing two more times (though he wasn't able to corner them in bathrooms); once with an older, more refined looking gentlemen, since Harry was all too aware of the use of crisp manners in language (which was more than apparent in the man's tone of voice an bearing), and lastly of a boy of seventeen, which was close enough to his age.

No one noticed him, thankfully, and seeing how late it was when he finished, he decided not to reveal himself either. He would stand out too much at the moment, showing up so late and without knowing the language. Not to mention that it would be better if he made his next move elsewhere and after he could understand what the heck everyone was saying.

So he slipped away and out of sight, fished his broom and flew into the forest before it got too dark to see. When he found a good enough clearing, he landed, spelled the area safe and took out his tent.

It was a new one, of course, since the one that they'd use last year had been borrowed. Harry quite liked it as well. It had all of the things he needed and more. Four bedrooms, a study, living room, kitchen and bathrooms made the whole of it, though they were a great deal bigger than they had a right to be, and could be easily changed to accommodate his needs.

The living room alone was probably half the size of the Gryffindor Common Room, at that.

Still, he was thankful to have magic on his side as he sank into the cushy sofa and took out the three vials of silvery-blue memories, arranging them in front of him according to who they belonged to.

Next, he enlarged his enchanted pouch and fished out a special rune inscribed glass (which helped mix and contain unstable solutions), a thin crystal rod (used to combine already-made potions) and three full potion bottles; one a violent purple, one a subdued orange and the last one a rather common looking green.

All of them had a swirly cloud of mist above them.

Carefully, he took out his wand and picked the memories of the chatty young man and carefully dropped them into the orange potion bottle, watching as they dissolved and the potion became darker. This was the base, which would make the foundation of the language in his brain, providing him with understanding.

Taking the copied memories of the refined older man, he opened the green potion bottle and put them in it. These would make the structure of his vocabulary, both spoken and written, complimenting and augmenting the first set of memories. He watched as the potion turned a washed out lime green and the mist thickened.

Finally, he took the memories of the seventeen year old teen and dropped them into the violet potion, which turned a bright neon-color once mixed. This one would make the façade of his speech, giving his knowledge context and direction. True, it would be influenced deeply by the other two potions, but then, it wouldn't do if he spoke like an old man either.

The three together would provide the source that the potion would use to triangulate the needed speech patterns and imprint their understanding into his brain. The whole process would take the better part of two weeks, where he would find the best results immersing himself in the language itself, helping that way to flesh out and tie in his borrowed knowledge.

He capped all three potions and let them sit, knowing that they should do so for at least an hour before consumption, before they were combined.

It should give him enough to shower and get some food into him, at the very least.

**oOOoOOo**

"Hey, ossan! How much can you give me for these?" he asked, suitably and familiarly rude for someone his age and in his position, ready to haggle until he got the best price he could. Not that he'd accept anything else as he slipped into the trader's mind to see if he was thinking of ripping him off.

The man's eyes almost popped at the sight of the little rubies, and even if it earned him a suspicious look, it was not all that noteworthy. Still, he'd woven a subtle little spell earlier that repels close scrutiny just to be on the safe side and began to argue with the old man for all he was worth.

As is, his speech was still a little choppy and somewhat rough and this was the first time he ventured out into the open. The last five days had been spent eavesdropping as much as he could, fascinated by how he went from picking one word out of a hundred to one out of ten and then found himself understanding the strange gibberish these people used to speak with.

It didn't mean that his lips and mouth could just as easily form the words, though. That took quite a bit of practice, actually.

He'd also satisfied his curiosity by flying a few hours every afternoon to get the lay of the land and a better idea of this new world. Everywhere there were new things to see and strange customs taking place. He'd stumbled into no less than two festivals in the last three days and he wondered if these people just celebrated every time they could.

Though he wouldn't have mind if they did, at that.

Now, as he got some usable currency and found their denominations, descriptions and worth in the traders mind, he set out to get a few essentials.

He visited a bookstore and bought a few scrolls and books on history, geography and the like. After all, it wasn't only his verbal skills that he needed to polish. It was best of he tackles the written stuff as soon as possible and before the potion wore out. After that he browsed around a few clothing stores and tailors, comparing his own clothes with what was on sale and buying a few things to make them match better with this world.

Trainers were definitely out, as well as denim and other such materials. Zippers weren't all that common either, and seemed more of a utilitarian addition than something used of everyday clothing. He could still use his tee's, though, and it seemed that some of his shorts and boxers could be kept as well, but he needed to fill in the blanks, so he bought a couple pairs of sandals, some loose calf-length pants, some hakama's, a sturdy jacket, a few yukata's and a formal kimono; the last two being remarkably like robes, but less, well, _billowy_ and without buttons and clasps.

Harry even got himself a few loose shirts that folded across his chest and were closed in place by either a belt or sash.

Everything was quite comfortable too, he had to admit.

All of that done, he found a good spot in a stand and started taste-testing different foods, while he read up on the history of this strange place. It became his routine for those two weeks and more.

As it turned out, he was in a place called Fire Country, in a town to the east of Konohagakure no Sato, the countries _ninja_ village.

Yes, you head him right. Ninja.

That was what those funnily dressed people were; _shinobi_. And if that wasn't enough of a surprise, he didn't know what was. Almost every kid in his world pretends to be a ninja in their childhood, and here he was in a place _teeming_ with them. In a world where they thrived!

His curiosity was bloody well jumping with glee at this news, even as he devoured the books he'd purchased.

He couldn't _wait_ to meet one of them.

-o

**TBC…**

-o

**My Pickled Brains:** There you have it! I have the pairing picked out already, though you could take a guess. I'll even confirm it in a message if anyone gets it right!

I have a slew of ideas on how I want this to go, and it's nothing I've ever seen in any story I've ever read, so I'm quite excited about it! Harry will be the main character in this, though, and Naruto will come in later on.

But that doesn't really matter, right? So push this nifty little button down here and leave me a nice chewy review. I want to feed my plot-puppy something nutritious!

Ja ne!


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